Shards of Reveries
by IvyXLacrimosa
Summary: [Introspective look at Aizen Sōsuke] Because one does not simply wish to be God. After all, it is the loneliest and least satisfying thing a person can be, and there is no return. [Possible AU, more of a look to the past; One-Shot]


**Title: **Shards of Reveries

**Fandom: **Bleach

**Pairing: **None

**Character(s): **Aizen Sōsuke

**Genre(s): **Drama, Angst, Tragedy

**Words:**~2,500

**Rating: **T, Violence and Dark Themes

**A/N:** This past of Aizen's was never revealed, so I know everything in here is speculation and my own imagination, but… whatever. Oh, and unedited.

* * *

_The day you touch those dreams, you will taint them black, and they will melt to ash between your horrified fingers. That is a promise._

* * *

It was a known fact that souls born in Soul Society were usually born of noble families. On the contrary, very few knew that those who had the Reiatsu and vitality to birth souls were welcomed and adopted into said noble families, keeping those 'pure' lines strong. Sōsuke didn't learn this until after he'd graduated from the Academy, but it really didn't surprise him.

It was another way that prejudice bloomed between those of Rukongai roots and those of noble heritage. Keep the same family holding the same grudge for years and it builds up without the descended ever knowing that their anger was very false.

However unfair it was to the constantly rotating (for lack of a better word) citizens of the poor villages, it was simply the way that Soul Society worked.

In Aizen Sōsuke's opinion, it was a disgusting, nauseating thing. Especially because he himself, along with many other Shinigami, came from those "filthy backstreets" as they were sometimes called.

* * *

_Your dreams will be ashes, but the world will turn them to flowers, feeding off your decay. It will be lovely, won't it?_

* * *

He didn't come from the worst parts of Rukongai, no, he'd come from the lower Districts in East Rukongai, somewhere that was known for fewer spiritually gifted prodigies. In fact, Aizen was really the only one, but that hadn't surprised him, because even as a teen left in Rukongai on his own, he'd always _known_ he was different than the rest of them.

Even if he was brought to Soul Society after a death he would never remember, his unnaturally high Reiatsu levels made him a subject of torment from both sides in his youth, a horrible mashing of traits that were hated by both groups.

His village had been a small one, known by the simple name _Kagami_. It was a well-founded name, simple but the reasons behind it were plausible enough. After all, that District of Rukongai was nearly flooded all year round, with the rolling hills between villages acting as paths and foundation for homes. Creeks bubbled between, rough water and never ending sound.

That constant noise was a savior to him back then, when there were whispers behind his back that he could only ignore with the water nearby. He'd spend his days perched at the edge of the banks, eyes glued to the perpetual calm of the water, unbothered by his problem, not caring when his reflection became so bright with the sun overhead that it burned his eyes.

(_He hadn't always needed glasses. Actually he never really _needed_ them, since everything was just a bit blurry. And blurry was good, better than reality.)_

Many Shinigami say that Soul Society is a better place for souls in the Human World, with the rot in their chests and whatnot, but he honestly thought different. There was always some sort of familiarity there, at least compared to here, which was a guess, since he, like most others, didn't remember his past life.

But having those old things was better than having nothing, right?

He was the odd one out among the peaceful Third District of East Rukongai. He was surprisingly tall (even to begin with, though he still had a couple inches to go at that point), and they said his eyes were like the water, everywhere and nowhere. No matter how long he spent in the sun, he was pale, and his hair stayed the same unwavering brown.

He grew that hair out longer as time passed, so that when he was tired of meeting their judgmental eyes, he could let the strands curtain them from the world. It was cowardly, he knew this, but it was safer than snapping from that calm façade that he'd so quickly developed to head off the younger ones who terrorized him.

As long as he could unnerve them, they would keep their distance, even if their mouths would never stop moving. He could live with that, because unlike their eyes, he could drown their words with water.

Though, in contrast to that, he listened, and quickly became able to read people, since water carried sound as well as it warded it off. Despite his natural distaste for both normal souls and Shinigami, he was one of both himself, and found the way the so easily _loved _and by extension, _hated_, very fascinating_. _

As time went on, he grew to realize that because they understood so little about Shinigami and Hollows, they could create truths that suited their tastes, twisting facts in ways that didn't weigh on their thoughts and consciences. He was a bit envious of that fact, since he could not make himself forget that he was the very thing that brought what few Hollows they did get to them.

Ignorance was blatant in him for the longest time, something he hated and adored about himself. That is until to many Hollows passed through _Kagami_ that the Shinigami paused once after killing it, their eyes and senses reaching even as the people watched curiously.

Those black garbed beings damned him when all their eyes eventually flickered to him, and they all seemed to relax with pity and disgust, murmuring among themselves as they fled back to their gated walls.

Sōsuke had always thought if they were that strong that they didn't need walls. It was a display of power, because shouldn't the _people, _and not the _protector_ have the walls?

After that group had singled him out, the village blindly followed, despite the fact that they continued to bad mouth the Shinigami behind their backs. It was ironic and moronic in multiple doses, and eventually Sōsuke moved himself away from it.

He rarely found work, and it was often in other towns, so he manly spent time in between _Kagami_ and her neighbors, so he found a raised grove sort of forest, and nestled himself above their hate, where he could see the waters reflection for miles on either side.

Those beautiful things made the dirty things easier to forget, even when under his thin and lithe frame there was nothing but brittle bone. His stomach was silent in pity though, and for that he was grateful.

* * *

_Just because the world works this way, doesn't mean we can't work around it. That's what we're good at, love._

* * *

He talked to himself, little mutterings of irritation at traveling souls, just to make sure his voice still worked, because sometimes he feared it would vanish forever, and he wasn't sure why that idea terrified him so much.

_You have things to say._

He wasn't sure when that voice started, but it was carried on the waters below him, which reflected his own face back, distorting it. It was odd, to look for something familiar and find it twisted in unexpected ways and still think it looks more like you than expected.

_You are losing your thoughts, Sōsuke._

He easily forgot her words; they were lovely in their eloquence and tinkling in their superiority. They reminded him of rain unfaltering and playful no matter how much those under it enjoyed it or suffered in it. It was a lovely voice, but at first he rarely remembered what she said to him.

It was after she first spoke that he stopped looking at the sky though, like the sun, the moon burned for him unless he saw it reflected, and color was so much lovelier when it was mixed in a waltz of watercolor flower petals.

_Do you think they see it that way, my dear?_

He wished they did, for if they could all see the same thing, they would not hate each other for qualities they both could possess, and they would never scorn the unique for being themselves. He would not nestle in a tree unable to sleep because he was unable to relax, and he could push back those heavy strands of hair and look away from the light that burned intensely in the water.

Maybe his eyes wouldn't hurt all the time then.

At the same time though, he let himself sit in such an in between space, not truly Rukongai soul—innocence and purity—and not trained as a Shinigami—authority, not protector—but it didn't bother him. Sōsuke didn't think he would fit anywhere, for, as he calmly watched struggles and fights and betrayals from his perch, the world was too _wrong _for any place to be right.

_Fix it. We want to fix it._

He'd seen the Shinigami scoff at the deaths of Rukongai souls, those who couldn't run, wouldn't run, and had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were _fools _to the Shinigami, but as Sōsuke watched, he frowned at something different.

_You're too slow_, they thought together, that voice and he, for the very first time. From then on out, he only learned more, and from then on out, he despised and mourned for so much more.

Once he figured out how to close his eyes and shut off the outside thoughts, noise, and distractions, he saw something new.

It was similar, yet oh so different, than the crisscrossing hills and rivers that _Kagami _was nestled in. There were no people, no buildings, and no paths. It was flat, an expanse of tiny creeks to lazy moving rivers, all soundlessly merging and diverging as they turned the ground to lattice. Between the crystalline, clear, and endlessly deep waters, patches of vibrant green sprang up and hung over the edges. They were peppered with flowers, nostalgic, exotic, and everything in between, the bursts of forget-me-nots, lilies, chrysanthemums, and much more was dazzling to him.

_It's beautiful, is it not?_

This time, the voice came not from all around, but from behind him, he spun, missing it just barely, and was then engaged in a dizzying dance. No matter how fast or how unpredictably he turned, he could not catch the form of that female voice.

So he stopped, breathe gone, and sank to the ground with his legs crossed, leaning back on his hands and basking in the warmth of an invisible sun, a resigned smirk on his face. "You win." There was an amiable chuckle in his voice, and he Sōsuke didn't even realize that he'd laughed for the first time in many, many years.

_You are a winner as well, in that case_.

The words were dry, and as he stared forward, she materialized in his peripheral. When he turned his head, she vanished again, so, frowning, he kept his eyes forward. A tinkling laugh was heard, drawing a sheepish shrug from him as he ducked his head.

_Not yet, little one._

* * *

_We can turn the world backwards; restart it all so that it turns in a way we desire. We are very good at making illusions._

* * *

After that first time, he meditated, rather than sleep, despite the fact that once or twice Shinigami on patrol would seek him out with their eyes, suspicion and curiousity in their looks. He only had eyes for the one thing that set them all apart from each other though, the swords at their sides.

Each was different, be it in length, color, style, or even the way they were carried, and he found it curious.

_Now you are getting it, love._

The next time he entered that plain of water and flowers, it was midnight, and a moon hung in an otherwise black sky, its light bright and yellow like it was imitating the sun. The water casted off a glow brighter than the moon though, and everything seemed to sway with the heaviness of that light.

Rather than search for that fleeting phantasm, he crouched at the bank of the widest river, something that would take him a while to cross if he ever decided to, and reached in. His hand broke the surface, disrupting the glow that the calm water had displayed and casting dark, stark ripples to arch and swirl delicately around his hand.

The water was tepid, smooth and like sinking his hand into thick, warm air. It was a comforting feeling, like being immersed in warmth when stepping into a home during a storm, or wrapping up in warm clothes.

Those feelings for him were few and far between—what, with his tarnished, sleeve-less tunic and dirt brown pants. Unlike most citizens of the lower Rukongai towns, he did not own a pair of shoes, and his pale feet were smooth despite his hard calluses. Yet that simple warmth of the water as he searched was the greatest comfort he'd ever felt.

Her tinkling laugh echoed in his head.

_Ah, Sōsuke, you wonderfully smart boy._

As the words reverberated own the grass, shaking the strands in a way atypical to the motionless world around him, his hand grasped silk lain over steel. He pulled.

It sliced through the water cleanly, leaving no wake in its path, unlike his hand, as if it had been born of the water itself. Its blade was silver, glinting sharply in contrast to the moon's yellow light, a perfect katana in his hand. The guard was bronze, the hexagon stretched so that in line with the sword's blade it stuck out, more like a diamond than a hexagon, tricking the eye. Under his hand was green silk wrapping the swords hilt, the color of life, the stalk of a flower supporting a number of different possible outcomes.

He smiled, and when he looked up, she was smiling back.

_You know what we have to do_.

Yes, he did. Rising to his feet, he hung onto her loosely, the blade grasped between his fingers and her face within his sight. She was like glass, transparent, with hair made of flowers and eyes of the moon. One false word would blow her away.

"We have things to do…" There was a pause, and his face twisted for a moment before lighting up, eyes flashing with pleased recognition. "Kyōka. Kyōka Suigetsu. That's your name," he stated it like a fact, not a question and her smile widened.

_Yes, Sōsuke, we have much to do. _

"We'll shatter that world," he murmured absentmindedly, and, the next thing he knew, he was out of Rukongai, at the gates of Seireitei with other Shinigami, waiting to head to the Academy within its walls.

Aizen Sōsuke and the universe would never be the same.

* * *

_After all, to truly fool ones enemy, you must first believe the lie yourself. It's much kinder that way. I promise._


End file.
